Secrets I'll Never Tell
by CortessaBlatt
Summary: A view into Mira’s past on Nar Shaddaa... Oneshot.


**Secrets I'll Never Tell**

_A view into Mira's past on Nar Shaddaa… Oneshot._

**Rated PG13 **– Sexual references, alcohol use, etcetera, etcetera, is that some kind of code…?

**Disclaimer: **I'm a stealing sleazebag.

**Secrets I'll Never Tell**

Holycrap my computer registered 'sleazebag' as an actual word. O.O!

… Anyway.

**Secrets I'll Never Tell**

I had always thought birthdays were supposed to be happy days, full of color and action and smiles and joy… little party hats, you know? Frilly dresses, shiny presents, sugary treats, giggling friends… I never got any of these as a little kid.

And I sure as hell ain't getting them now.

I've been living on Nar Shaddaa since I turned seventeen. Since then, I've been living off of whore money, juma juice, cigarra butts, and Durabars, the cheapest lasting snack in the universe. And by cheap, I do mean disgustingly old. I was always told that it was a shame and a waste – a pretty face and mind like mine being wasted for a ten-credit flop. I'm a singer and an actress – I can belt it, if given the chance, and the men who let me sing love me all the more. I don't care where my money comes from, as long as I get it.

Somehow, though, I can't stand men. They're not beautiful; their naked bodies are like hunks of disgusting flesh, a mere mockery of the beauty that is a woman's body. Their faces are expressionless and cold, not at all like the soft, fleshy ghosts that are feminine and feminine alone; their bodies thin downwards, like a cone, ending at the top with their tiny little heads, while women are a breathtaking symphony of curves and carefully-placed muscles, sculpted to perfection. I have never met a beautiful man, and I never will.

Today is my nineteenth birthday, an emerging age, if I do say so. I am, presently, completely matured. My body is at its curvaceous peak; my strides are long, even, my movements hold no clumsy kinks. I can make my own choices, and I have learned all that I must to survive in this empty hole called Nar Shaddaa. Whore work is not my thing, I admit silently as I stand on the corner with my partner in crime, Ahnha. Ahnha is a Twi'lek, a radiant violet, with eyes of burning emerald. Having worked with her in a double-joint, I know just how beautiful she is, through and through. Her movements are like a liquid dance; she knows what she does and says what she means. When she says a job is good, she means well, and allows me a few runs at the pazaak den. She is like my sister, my manager, my partner, and my best friend. I am unsure where I would be without her. Probably crammed on some Mandalorian ship, bearing as many children as they can stuff in me before I burst.

Damn, I'd pick whore work over that any day.

So I stand there, tugging at the tight bands around my neck, thighs, and wrists. The tight belt around my waist jingles with my movement; the pazaak cards and credit marks click against the sides of their compartments. I haven't earned enough today – I might not eat tonight. I feel the skin between my suit (more like underwear) and my boots, which is not much space at all, not because the suit is low, but because the boots are very high. They're a pain to walk in; that's why we stand in corners, dragging on cigarras, using the glowing embers as beacons to potential customers. Ahnha has allowed me a few pazaak runs today, for my birthday, and has decided to let me stay out of core work. Flattering, really. It's almost like a vacation away from life, though I still have to take anybody who grabs my ass first.

No one is coming tonight. Ahnha strokes her headtails, shining with sweat and some sort of strange lubricant she won't allow me to see. Her plush, violet lips purse and then open before she draws her tongue over her mouth and clicks her teeth together. A nervous gesture, meant to keep the blood flowing to her tongue, should she need it. She's a fast, smooth talker; I trust her to speak to clients more than I trust myself.

"One of these days, we'll make enough to work you to a theatre," she says out of nowhere, looking to me and offering me a smile. "We will turn you into an actress, a singer, a star, my pet. You will sing for me."

"I always sing for you," I reply, smiling warmly at her.

She likes this and grins, dragging on her cigarra. "Do sing for me," she murmurs. "Sing."

I nod, thinking up something. I pace around in a small circle, hands on my hips, before something comes to me. I take a deep breath, let it out, lick my lips, and then breathe in again. The noise starts, low and soft, from the pit of my lungs, rising to become louder and more emotional. Ahnha listens with appreciation, her eyes shining.

My singing always attracts clients. Now, several men and women halt in their tracks, watching me as I shout to the dark night sky, my breasts rising and falling heavily in my tight little suit. I feel their eyes on me. I remember. _A theatre. An actress. A singer. A star._

Ahnha is dealing with customers already.

------

_Now, in my later years… I can look back on my past and regret…_

------

Our work is finished, and again, Ahnha and I go back to our little shack of Durasteel boxes, which presently stands pressed against a warehouse wall. Our 'home' consists of a tiny shelf filled with pazaak cards, perfumed bottles, cigarra packs, birth control, and juma juice. Ahnha respects that I am underage and buys nothing alcoholic, and when she does she denies me anything more than a single sip. She is only three years my senior; I dislike that she treats me still like a child. Our bunk is a jumble over oversized, soiled rags, bunched up in the corner, and, as I firmly drag a Durasteel slab over the entryway of our shack to form some kind of door, she strips down to nothing like she does every night, putting her clothing into a cold bucket by the bed. The bucket cleans our clothes – it's the only thing we have that costs more than a five-credit squat.

"Oh," she groans, sitting back against the wall, rubbing her aching legs. "I hate those shoes. I hate them to…" she breaks off in a pained grunt, "… hell."

I remove my clothing, setting it into the bucket as well. I glance at her and offer her a warm smile that she returns wholeheartedly. She's so beautiful naked; her violet skin is so radiant even in the nighttime darkness. When we work together, it feels more like I'm committing myself to her, rather than my work.

"Do you need me to help?" I ask her gently, reaching out to her. She takes my hand, presses it to her lips like a loving sister, and nods.

"Oh, if you would," she mumbles. "I'm so sore."

"I can imagine," I whisper, motioning for her to turn around. She turns her back to me and I scoot up behind her. She took on most of the customers today; at least five men. It is amazing, how she even manages to sit up. She must be so tired… I am behind her, on my knees, my knees pressed against the small of her back, and I grip her shoulders. "Don't pull away. I'll make it better."

She nods again, pursing her lips and sighing as I start, working my fingers against her skin, massaging the exhaustion from her weary body. "You're a good friend, Mira," she murmurs softly, leaning back against my hands. I take my time, slowly feeling out every kink beneath her soft, flawless skin. "You'll go places, someday. And I'll remember you when you do…"

"_Shh_," I admonish lovingly, working between her shoulder blades. She arches her back and moans before giving an almighty shudder. "Sore?"

"_Yes_," she breaths loudly. "It _hurts_."

"Mm, I'm sorry," I say, sliding my hands down to her hips and then up again. "Well, at least we made some money today. We might actually be able to eat something."

She laughs. "Yes, at least we have that," she agrees, ignoring my wandering hands, as they slip over her skin absently. I press my breasts against her back, working my hands into her shoulders again, allowing my breath to hiss in her ear.

"What are you doing?" she murmurs sleepily, shifting. Her skin rubs against my bare body; I shudder.

Never before had I considered my attraction towards my own gender. I had always assumed that it was a passing phase, a need to relate with people, like an animal seeks out more of its own kind. But now, as she shifts against me and I revel in the sheer smoothness of her skin, the gentle, sensuous curves in her body, I understand.

So, I press my lips against the back of her neck.

She gasps, sitting bolt upright. "Mira?" she cries. "What are you doing?"

I moan unhappily as she pulls away, falling back onto our bunk, drawing away from me and searching my face uncertainly with her emerald eyes. I shamelessly allow my gaze to rake over her body, allow the sheer desire for her blind me.

"Mira," she says warily.

I lick my lips. "Yes, Ahnha?" I can't bear kneeling like I am; how seductive she looks, utterly bare on our bunk, her eyes wide and cautious.

"What's come over you?" she asks quietly, drawing her body in tightly to hide herself.

"I want to sing for you," I say, almost drunkenly, longing to feel her against me again. I start for her; she cries out.

"Mira!"

I feel so cold without her body heat. I hug myself, staring down at my pallid skin, and realize what I have done wrong. I shake my head, feeling a blush crawl onto my cheeks, and I look away.

"Sorry," I lie automatically. I pause for another moment before an even more beautiful lie rolls off of my tongue. "I snuck some of your ale, for my birthday. I… I won't do it again."

She believes me, though she firmly separates us by a pile of clothing. I turn my back to her dutifully, drawing my knees to my chest, relieved that she at least drops the matter.

Everyone will believe me.

Because I am an actress. A lying, beautiful songbird. A star.

------

_That morning, I bought a gun. I considered it… my birthday present. And from then forward, I was no longer some poor little slob on the streets of Nar Shaddaa._

_I would make my audience drop dead at my feet, like the diva, the unfaltering star, that I am._

------

**Author's Notes: **I. Absolutely. Loved. This. Are you worried about me yet? No, I'm not a lesbian. But somehow, I always felt that Mira was, and toyed around with the idea, considering how cute it was, and so I decided, 'aw, to heck with it' and made this. Don't pull some homophobe crap on me, m'kay?

Kind of goes along with Atton to Mercy, now that I think about it, though Atton remains straight, and… Mira doesn't.


End file.
